


Reflect

by Elektra Pendragon (elekdragon)



Series: Mac/Renny [8]
Category: Dark Visions - L. J. Smith
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-28
Updated: 2003-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elekdragon/pseuds/Elektra%20Pendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About a year after the events of the books, Renny reflects on his life under the influence the crystal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflect

It had been months since Renny last looked in a mirror. Living with the Fellowship had made it easy--the rustic cabins had only small shaving mirrors in the bathrooms, and it was easy to avoid being reflected the tiny circles. Even after returning to San Francisco, Renny managed to not look at himself.

Oh, he would glance occasionally, to make sure his hair wasn't too erratic, or whether he needed to shave, but he never LOOKED. And when he did glance, he never saw more than his face.

If the others noticed that his hair grew long and wild, or that he was scruffy more often than clean-shaven, they didn't mention it. Everyone still treated Renny and Bri as though they were of breakable glass. Joyce sure was--despite the Fellowship's gentle touch, the woman never quite recovered. Perhaps they were afraid Renny would crack too. Perhaps they were simply afraid.

Lewis wasn't afraid, though. The young man was eager to have another PK psychic to practice with. It was Lewis that pointed out the mirror to Renny as they sat in the Chinese restaurant, waiting to pick up their order.

"Geez, you look awful. When was the last time you got some sun, Paul?"

Renny followed Lewis' pointing finger, and caught sight of a familiar reflection. For just a moment, he saw Jackal Mac staring back at him from the mirror--lean body, gaunt face, pale skin, dark hair hanging in unkempt clumps around his face. For just a second he saw the familiar smile, the heart-tripping gleam in Mac's eyes.

And then it was just himself--ghostly, starved, worn out--staring back.

****

That night, Renny waited until everyone was asleep before he slipped out of his bed and snuck down the hall to the bathroom. He shut the door silently, slowly turning the lock until it stuck with a click. Renny winced, even though he knew it wasn't loud enough to wake anyone. He didn't want them to worry about him, or ask too many questions.

The light was blue-ish and gaudy on the tiles, and Renny rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, willing away an approaching headache. When he thought he could handle the light, he opened his eyes.

The large mirror was before him, but Renny crowded himself into the corner, hiding from the reflection. He could barely see himself in the glass. Turning his back to the mirror, Renny started to undress. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, absently rubbing a hand down the back of his long hair to make sure it wasn't standing up. He paused for a moment, contemplating his bare toes as they thrummed against the cool tiles, before he pushed his thumbs into the waistband of his sleep pants and shucked them off his hips.

Looking down, Renny could see the weight he'd lost. He'd always been the athletic one, the one who was small but built. The points of his hips stood out starkly from his pale-gold skin, his stomach no longer defined as it once was. Pink and white scars crossed over the smooth plane of his abs, leading down.

Renny closed his eyes, overwhelmed with memory. He could barely remember the exact cause of every scar, but he knew where they came from. He could recall the nights that gave birth to them, the words he chanted as his skin split apart.

/"Yes."/

/"More."/

Renny would have given anything to pretend that it had happened to someone else, that he was a different person, that it was that OTHER Renny, not Paul, not who he was now...

But his skin remembered. It remembered every touch, harsh or soft. Even though he knew some of them were fading, going away for good, he could still remember every scar, every wound.

/You don't have to look. You know what you'll see,/ he told himself over and over. But it had been a long time, and he had to look. Normal people looked in mirrors. Normal people could see themselves naked and not want to run away. Normal people weren't afraid of their own reflections.

Renny turned. It took a long time for his eyes to open. He stood there, feeling completely exposed in the small, locked room, the harsh blue-white light bouncing around him. He swayed with the breeze of the air conditioner, trying to remember back to a time when he could look at himself, to recall who he had once been. Anything to keep from having to see.

He could almost hear Mac's voice mocking him as he stood there, smell the smoke of his cigarettes as he muttered something disdainful into his ear. Finally, Renny took in a deep breath, holding that smoke-smell memory in his lungs, and he opened his eyes.

It didn't look as bad as Renny had been expecting. After all, several months had passed. Maybe even a year. Most of the marks had been shallow, working up to those deep, deep cuts, when it seemed that Mac was trying to burrow inside with his knife. By all rights, his body should have been a mass of twisted scars, of angry marks and jagged flesh, but amazingly, it was mostly clear.

Renny stepped closer to the mirror, watching as his skin grew more in focus, more detailed in the reflection. He could almost count the visible marks, feel them itch like fresh-healed skin. He could remember it all, but it was an odd kind of memory, vague and dreamlike, as disjointed as a movie montage or music video--a flash of skin, a glint of steel, a splash of blood. So much there, so much to remember.

He concentrated on some of the oldest wounds, tracing back the path that brought him to this place. With his whole hand, he outlined the long, puffy, irregular scars that made his collarbones all the more defined. The marks held no pain, just the odd sensation of scarred flesh trying to remember. In the depths of it all, Renny couldn't recall feeling pain, just sensation as sharp and as intense as a razor's edge, as Mac's gaze.

It had been good. So good.

And afterwards, Mac had been so gentle. The small kit stolen from Joyce's cluttered study gave him the needle and thread, and Mac's hands had been steady through their languor as he sewed up the gaps in Renny flesh. He seemed to enjoy doing that as much as he enjoyed making the marks; watching the dull, thick needle tear into flesh, the string burning as it was pulled tight, the way the skin pinched and wrinkled around the few stitches. They had wept hot red tears for days afterwards, but Joyce never asked about the bloodstains on the floor, or the walls, or his clothes. If anyone noticed, they didn't say a word. Everyone was too busy with their own destruction to notice Renny's dissolution, or Mac's annihilation.

It was pain to remember, a kind of pain that bit deeper than knives or blades could go. It was an internal ache that just kept hurting and hurting and hurting.

Unable to think about it more, Renny looked away from his chest, tracing the marks up to his face in the mirror. He was gaunt, unnaturally thin, and his skin looked dusted with ash he was so pale. His bangs were long enough to brush his sharp-edged cheeks, and his hair curled around the back of his neck. He certainly did look like Mac, back when they'd first met, before he shaved his head. He looked nothing like the boy he'd been before Mr. Zetes and his dark crystal, and deep inside he knew he looked nothing like the man he could have been.

After so long of feeling nothing, the wave of intense fury that hit Renny was surprising, and refreshing. It burned through his veins, feeding on the pain that he refused to acknowledge. He watched his face twist in the mirror, turning into something alien and frightening.

He could have been so many things... It didn't need to happen. He could have stopped it. He should have.

He shouldn't have wanted it so much. He shouldn't want it still.

His teeth gnashed, and Renny growled ferally at the creature glaring back at him. His nails dug into the palm of his hand. He reared back, snarling, his fist ready to fly, to smash apart that hated reflection, destroy it all.

Already he could see it happen: the spider web of glass shattering around his fist, the satisfying sound of something breaking, the glittering pieces of glass falling around him. They'd be sharp, sharp as a knife. He could cut off his hair with it, cut his skin, tear it all away. He reared back again, his arm shaking as he held it ready, aiming for the dark eyes that watched him with such hatred and fury. He saw himself covered with blood, his head shaved bare, his smile as feral as an animal.

With a gasping sob, Renny curled his arm to his chest and fell to the ground. Noises, insensible and inconsolable, escaped his mouth as he breathed heavily, curling up around his fist. The mirror was unshattered, but inside, he was broken.

When one is suffering, the world stops. Time turns into a thick sludge that flows forward only in the halting, excruciating pain of sobbing breaths. In it, Renny aged a decade.

The tears finally stopped, and the pain was swept away under a blank numbness, to be if not forgotten completely then remembered as only a vague shadow of itself. It was a confusing surprise to feel his heart beating in his chest, his lungs filling with air--confusing because Renny couldn't tell if he was grateful or disappointed to still be alive.

Slowly, joints aching and muscles protesting, Renny uncurled his fist, looking down at his hand. There were the clearly defined crescents of where his nails pressed into the flesh, but there was no blood around the reddened marks. No blood anywhere.

"Oh, Mac," Renny whispered, "I'm sorry." He buried his face in his palm as new tears fell.

***

If anyone had heard any noise in the night, no one mentioned it at breakfast. They went about their little routines, ignoring Renny for the most part, giving him space as they always did. Lewis, however, was never one to hide his feelings, and he stuck close to Renny, his soulful eyes filled with concern. Sometimes he'd just reach out with one hand, touching Renny lightly on the arm before withdrawing. Renny didn't say a word until the evening.

He and Lewis were sitting in the dining room, practicing pushing a salt shaker back and forth between them. Lewis had drawn a little maze with the spilt grains--after tossing the appropriate amount over his shoulder, of course--and was trying to navigate it across to Renny.

Renny didn't make any preamble to his words. "I need a haircut." His voice came out rough, unused.

Lewis smiled as he always smiled, wide and generous and vaguely self-deprecating. "You're telling me, bud. I've got just the place. Madelyn will fix you up so nice, you won't even recognize yourself."

Renny just nodded at first, then he cleared his throat and said, "Sounds nice. But--not too short."

"Whatever you want, Paul."

"I want..." Renny trailed off with a sigh.

"What do you want?"

Renny wanted to forget, but he knew he could never do that. He wanted to have a new life, start over from scratch, but that was impossible. He wanted to make new choices, to see where Mac had gone wrong and not follow that path.

That, at least, was a desire that could be fulfilled. He would make it happen. Somehow.

Instead of answering, Renny concentrated on the salt shaker. Slowly, it slid across the slick wood and into Lewis' maze.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Camera](https://archiveofourown.org/works/166717) by [Elektra Pendragon (elekdragon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elekdragon/pseuds/Elektra%20Pendragon)




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